


Maelstrom

by Maqui



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bullying, But Stiles doesn't, Creature Stiles, Fix-It of Sorts, Jackass Jackson, M/M, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, The Stilinskis and their neighbors, Total re-do, a loootttt more bromance with Scott and Stiles, a lot more angst, a lot more fluff, awesome parenting, inaccurate portrayal of mythological creatures, tags as I add chapters, the SHERIFF KNOWS, what was I thinking writing this?, you gotta read to find out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maqui/pseuds/Maqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles and Scott get into a lot more trouble, Scott hasn't been bitten yet, Derek's that hot stalker guy, and Stiles is just trying to make it through the school year.</p><p>Oh, and apparently Stiles isn't exactly human.</p><p> </p><p>|| Summaries are not my thing :/ ||</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set at the beginning of Stiles and Scott's freshman year. Like literally the day before. It's so not canon compliant it's not even funny. Oh, and a poorly written death scene by yours truly.
> 
> (❛ᴗ❛人)✧Enjoy 
> 
> Also, I'll try and correct any mistakes I find.

☆❋──❁ 1 ❃──❋☆

 

    “Stiles,” his father levels him with a glare that could curdle milk and wither flowers. It means no nonsense and promises a world of pain if he so much as even thinks about disobeying his father. Being the son of the sheriff, one wouldn't be all that surprised to find his father overly protective. It goes with the job, right? Well, Stiles is sad to inform you that his dad has been like this all of his life, even more so when his mother passed away.

It's aggravating that only now, his freshmen year of High school, that he is finally allowed to attend after school curricular activities and functions. The protectiveness almost bordered on a obsessive control problem. _Shit_. He's not paying attention again. Dad's glare intensified by tenfold.

  “Y-yeah, dad?” Stiles asked nervously, rubbing along the nape of his neck. His father sighs and deflates like an old party ballon, his father's eyes are bloodshot and sagging with exhaustion. “I'm leaving and will probably be out all night. Don't leave this house. At all. I mean it. I've already called Melissa to tell her you are to remain home.” That's highly unlikely given how his father was terrified to even come near a three foot vicinity around Scott's mom after their horrifically failed date, but Stiles doesn't call out his father's bluff but sits there and nods like a good child he's suppose to be. His father lingers in his bedroom doorway, eyes narrowed with suspicion before finally moving on.

He shouts a good-bye to his father from his bedroom window, watching silently as his father's cruiser slowly backs out their driveway and into the dark street. He waits a moment or two, straining to hear any other cars. When he doesn't hear any, he smiles to himself, racing across his room to retrieve his silent phone from the oak wood desk that sits adjacent to Stiles's bed. There's not a chance he'll not sneak out tonight, he's alone by himself for the first time in months without the watchful gaze of a sitter and he's got a bottle of his father's best whiskey. So what's he gonna do? Call Scott and get drunk out in Beacon's Hills preserve. He flies down the stairs at three at a time, bounding across the living room in two long strides before realizing—his car keys are gone, probably with his dad down at the station.

 “Ah fuck.” Stiles mutters underneath his breath. It's a long walk from Scott's house and then to the reserve, but he's walked longer before in the past. He empties his school backpack, places his binders away inside his room and crams it full of snacks and other paraphernalia before sliding into his worn tennis shoes by the front door. He checks around the house, making sure everything is locked and in it's proper place before leaving. Stiles leaves a few lights on to give the appearance that he's still home to any possible nosy neighbors. (They've ratted him out in the past. Damn old people..) He grabs his jacket from coat rack beside the door and leaves through the front door, locking it behind himself.

Shivering, Stiles zips up his jacket and slings his backpack over his shoulder as he goes down the porch steps. It's a bit chilly out and tonight's a full moon, giving the dark night a rather ominous feeling. Despite it feeling like a total horror movie cliché, Stiles heads his way over to Scott's anyway, dimly recalling his mother's warnings as a child.

_“Stay inside the circles should you ever go out at night, sweetheart. They'll protect you and only you, Przemysław..”_

He can't help but frown now. What had she meant by _circles_?

 

 

—

 

 

Luckily, by the time Stiles reaches Scott's house, Melissa is already pulling out of the driveway and on her way to her shift at the hospital. He can hear Scott blaring music from the open window of his room, likely working out. A new obsession and goal formed from the desire to actually make something of himself for the Lacrosse team. Scott, sadly, hasn't made much progress. Stiles huffs when he notices Scott isn't going to answer the door anytime soon, the music too loud and caught up in whatever exercise he's doing this month. So it leaves Stiles with only one other option. He goes around to the back of the house where it's thick with strong and persistent vines. A place jokingly cursed by Stiles Melissa had said once.

The McCall house had no problems with the annoying growth before Scott and Stiles formed their friendship, it only began growing back in tougher and thicker vines just after Stiles had attempted to climb it during sixth grade year and fell from it, landing on his arm and breaking it. It grew back tenfold.

_“It grew for you, Stiles. Your own nature ladder.”_

_“Does that mean Scott is basically a princess?”_

_“Hey!”_

The old memory of Scott and his mom disappears just as Stiles finally reaches Scott's window, his fingers digging into the familiar worn grooves in the window pane from years of Stiles climbing in. He hefted himself up, sneakered feet pushing off the side of the house and sending himself up on to the ledge, sliding in on his belly. And Scott hasn't gotten his message apparently, because he comes flying out of the bathroom in boxers brandishing a wooden baseball bat from their little league years. Stiles shrieks and holds up his hands in the universal sign for, _I mean no harm_. “Stiles! What the hell are you doing here, and more importantly, why didn't you call!?” Scott shouts, looking equally parts amused and upset. He puts away the bat.

“I did! You didn't answer my calls so I sent you a text, it's not my fault you didn't get it, and for the love of God put some clothes on!” Stiles exclaims in an exasperated tone. Scott sighs as he snatches a shirt from atop his dresser, shrugging it on and slumping against his bathroom door way. “Does your dad even know you're here?” “Hey, I'm old enough to go where I want now. I'm not a little kid!” Stiles stated as he began depositing his backpack onto Scott's bed.

“That's not what I was trying to say, dude. It's just–your dad gets a little crazy about you going places, especially without asking him.” Scott says in a soft voice, he's digging through the dresser now, hopefully in search of pants. His back is to Stiles. Stiles groans and flops back against Scott's bed. “God, when did you become such a stickler for the rules? And, oh! I got us something!” Stiles flips over, digging through his backpack for the bottle. And when he draws it out the look on Scott's face is hysterical.

“Stiles! You took your dad's alcohol?” Stiles cackles, twisting off the top. “Oh, like you haven't taken your mom's stuff before!” “B-but that's different and you know it! They were wine coolers,” Scott says with his arms crossed. “Not the hard shit your dad has, my mom will kill us! And do you know what this stuff does to your liver?!” Stiles rolls his eyes, “Scott, this is just an occasion. I promise you, we won't get failing livers from just one night of drinking. Okay, buddy?” Scott frowns. “Well, we can't drink it here. My mom has the nose of a hound dog.”

“True, and that's why we're going out to the preserve, Scotty boy.”

“What?”

 

 

They're on their way to the reserve on Scott's bike. Scott pedaling with Stiles standing on the spokes and his hands placed firmly on Scott's shoulders. They look completely ridiculous—Stiles more so. It's like a scene from a pathetic pre-teen romance novel. Ugh.

“I don't wanna be the one to say it but, this is a really bad idea.” Scott pants. “Party pooper, Scott. Party pooper.” Is all Stiles says, knowing it'll be enough to egg Scott on. His friend groans and pedals faster, whizzing down the street. It's at times like this that he really wishes Scott had a car, they're a little too big for riding on one bike and this another sure fire way to make their "bromance" bigger at school. He just hopes Jackass Jackson isn't out tonight. That asshole would never let them live this down. When road turns to gravel and gravel into thick, plush forest floor they stop. Glancing briefly at the sign that says no trespassing. Now Stiles isn't one to usually break they law but the family that owned the property was long gone, last he heard they were living in some big city. They can't exactly get mad over something they abandoned, can they? He hops off Scott's bike, hands tightening around the straps of his backpack.

They were really gonna do this. The clinking of metal draws Stiles's attention from the forest ahead. He whirls around, choking on laughter. “Scott, what're you—are you serious?” Scott was locking his bike to a tree with his chain. “What? Someone could steal it…” “Who? An owl? _A squirrel?_ But, hey. Whatever floats your boat, dude. Could you possibly speed this up by the way?” Scott frowns, but hurries. Stiles and Scott head farther out to where the burned out skeleton house sits in the middle of reserve. A haunted house claims some of the locals, but Stiles doesn't believe it. It's just a house, filled with charred remains of what was someone's home and past. He figures it'll be a nice secluded place to shoot off fire works.

The trees will cover any possible light from the fireworks and they're deep enough where no one can hear them. It always feels surreal re-seeing the house to Stiles. The first time he was here was over seven years ago, the house lit by hungry flames and the sound of ambulance's sirens echoing eerily in the forest. He had stayed in the cruiser with one of his father's deputies while his dad had tried sorting it out. The memory, literally, burned forever within his mind. “Scott, turn on the flashlight.” Stiles says, breaking their attention away from the husk of a house.

Scott fumbles for a minute or two before withdrawing the little red flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on and sending a pathway of light for the both of them. A few birds caw and flutter away from the trees nearby them, but otherwise the forest stays silent as Stiles set their stuff up. The burned down house sits at least seven yards away from them. Even the grass around it still hasn't grown back. Stiles tries to remember what it once looked like. Had been it been a pale yellow or a cream color? Did it have black shingles, or gray ones? It's a bit bigger than the houses in Stiles neighborhood. He can't help but think of people who once lived here. The Hales. Stiles shakes his head and looks away, placing a threadbare blanket on the ground for them to sit on, a bag of chips to one corner of the blanket, and fireworks to the middle of it. The bottle of whisky cools in left his left hand.

Scott groans, “Whiskey and fireworks, Stiles? This a really, really bad idea.” Stiles snorts, mentally recalling all of Scott's terrible ideas in the past. “Would ya just humor me, Scott? God, you're being worse than Greenberg right now.” Scott huffs and plants himself on the corner of the blanket, hand out stretched for the bottle of whiskey. Stiles smiles, “Now that's what I'm talking about!” He hands over the bottle before taking a seat next to Scott, ripping open one of the bags of chips. He hastily shoved a few into his mouth before digging the lighter out of his pocket. He flicks it on, smirking at the comical look Scott takes on. “If we get caught I'm blaming you.” Is all Scott says with a shake of his head. Stiles laughs before lighting on of the few sparklers he saved from Fourth of July and promptly spells out, **Fuck You**. Scott shoves him, lips quirked up into an almost smile. He snatches another sparkler from the middle of their blanket and takes Stiles's lighter.

They're spelling out swear words to each other and giggling like a couple of crazy people, dizzy already from whiskey. Stiles lights a couple of Roman candles and watches idly as it shoots out bright lights of red, green, and blue. Somehow, during the mess of all of this Scott had pressed closer to Stiles, drawn by the warmth there, and Stiles's head is laying back against his friend's shoulder. They're both handing the bottle off to each other, taking long sips here and there. “Stiles, why did we come out here?” Scott asks. Stiles runs a hand wearily through the stubble of his buzz cut, thinking of a good reason as to why they really came out here. He wanted to drink, wanted to set off fireworks, but it didn't have to be here of all places. The forest where many of Beacon Hills residents considered haunted. “I don't know really,” Stiles admits. “I wanted to have fun with you and for some reason this place just felt like the right place to do it. It's been a while since we've done something like this.”

“From the way you two are so close it looks like you've done this many times.”

Scott and Stiles both release shrieks at the same time, falling over each other and becoming entangled in a mess of crushed snacks and a blanket. Stiles fails a lot like a fish out of water, clutching at Scott's arm. They eventually untangle themselves and stand up, trying to see through the darkness to who the newcomer was.

“What're you doing on my property?”

Stiles blinks, cowering behind Scott which doesn't do much to shield him from the glare of the enraged young woman that stands before them. She's shadowed by the dark of the night but her eyes almost give off a faint glow in the light. Very animal-like. She's average height with dirty blonde hair that's shoulder length. The young woman is clad in a flowery lace tank top and ripped jeans, very much unlike a threat. Stiles thinks she looks familiar… Her eyes are a gray-green, hazel, complete with a sharp nose and dark thick brows. “Are you Laura Hale?” Stiles blurts, unable to control himself. She looks surprised, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she saunters forward, hands on her hips in an angry mom fashion.

“Why? And again, what are you doing here?” Scott's puppy face does nothing to quell maybe-Laura's anger and neither does his stammering. “We were just fooling around out here, I mean…you guys were gone for a long time so we—me and Stiles, who's the sheriff's son—”

“John Stilinski's kid?” Maybe-Laura blinks, her face relaxing more into puzzled expression. She steps further towards them, about an inch away now and looks at them, examining them for…Stiles didn't know what. “Y-yeah, I'm Stiles.” Stiles says in a small voice, still half-way hidden behind the small bulk of Scott. She give them a small smirk before uncrossing her arms. She shakes her head, laughing. Stiles and Scott share a look, utterly confused now. “So you're gonna kill us ?” Scott asks her. “Nope,” she responds popping the p. “But I am but miffed at you two wandering around my property, but since you two aren't desecrating anything I'll left you off. Besides, I bet daddy and mommy wouldn't be happy that you're out here at midnight shooting off fireworks and drinking up your parent's liquor, would they?” Well, I guess that confirms her identity then Stiles thinks.

“Are–are you threatening us?” Stiles asks. She smiles, grinning wolfishly. Her upper incisors glinting like pearls in the moonlight. “Ah huh,” Laura answers. “If you don't talk, neither will I. I don't want anyone to know I'm back, I like my privacy. You catch my drift, guys?” “But why're you here alone…at night?” Stiles asks, curiosity getting the better of him. He whimpers from the pinch he receives from Scott. Laura raises a thick brow, lips pursed. “I could say the same for you two. Now are you both going to listen, or do I really have to starting bashing skulls and call parents?” Stiles and Scott both nod, scrambling to put their things away. Stiles keeps close to Scott, not really trusting Laura.

Why wouldn't she want anyone to know she's here? It was weird, but hey. He doesn't need another reason for his dad to get his sixteen year old son a babysitter, again. Just as they're packed up and ready to go, Laura leaning against a tree and waiting to guide them back. A howl tears through night air, raising the fine hairs on the back of Stiles's neck. “Was that a wolf—oh god, Stiles, I knew we shouldn't have come here.” Scott whispers, frightened. His hold around Stiles's wrist tightens. “No, that's not a wolf. Probably a coyote, or something.” Laura tries reassuring them, somewhat failing. Stiles shakes his head, recalling the vast array of essay topics he's covered. Wolves and California one of them.

“No, that's a wolf. But what's it doing here? They haven't been here in, like, sixty years.” “Who cares if they haven't been here in sixty years?! It's going to fucking eat us!” Scott says rather shrilly. They begin to bicker back and forth, arguing over the inane subjects of man-eating wolves when what it sounds like trees snapping in half from the deeper parts of the forest. In fact, Stiles is pretty sure he can see the trees going down despite the darkness. Laura snatched both Stiles and Scott by the back of their jackets, drawing them close. Stiles is shocked, surprised by the strength that Laura has. Laura's smile is gone, replaced by a hardened grimace, eyes glowing faintly again. Which Stiles is sure a trick his mind is playing on himself. Fear and adrenaline do strange things to the mind.

She's running now—sprinting, really—her hold never lessening on them. “You need to go, keep going straight and you'll near the edge of the preserve. Go home and no matter what you hear, don't come back.” Stiles tries digging the soles of his shoes into the ground, not gaining much leeway with stopping Laura. He flails his arms, giving her wide-eyed look.

“Woah, woah! Can we talk about this please?”

“No,” she growls. Scott sends Stiles a look. “Well we need to! What do you mean, no matter what we hear? Are you going to take on a wild animal by yourself by any chance?”

Laura doesn't reply, scaring Stiles even more.

“Oh, God. You are…You're crazy.” Stiles cries. She shakes Stiles roughly, effectively shutting him up, face turned up into a snarl. “Listen to me, Przemysław.” That scares Stiles, more so than the creepy howling that's continuing, because he hasn't heard that name in over six years. How did she know his name, and more importantly, how was she even able to pronounce it? “No, Stiles. No questions right now. You both need to get your skinny asses home before I really do consider killing you. We don't have time to go back and forth.” “Laura...” Scott tries to say. “No! What did I say about questions?!” “Screw that,” Stiles interrupts, shaking away her grasp on him. “We deserve answers—I do. How did you know my na—”

“LAURA! STILES!”

Laura and Stiles follow the direction of Scott's gaze. Twenty feet away from them is a pair of glowing yellow eyes, shrouded by the dark. It's like a grotesque horror movie come to life. It smells of rot and day's old blood. It's huge and no matter how it resembles a wolf, Stiles knows it's anything but. It looked deformed, it's back a lumpy mess of bones and fur. It was as if it couldn't fit properly in its own skin. Laura curses under her breath and sends both Scott and Stiles flying with a powerful shove, shouting over her shoulder. “Get out of here!” Scott doesn't need to be told twice, he yanks Stiles up; Stiles cries of wait and stop falling on deaf ears. They're running away, putting more distance between themselves and Laura and the monster. Stiles but can't help but look back, heart thumping wildly like a startled rabbit.

“LAURA!” His chest is tight from leaving her behind. Even though, she's quickly becoming a small speck Stiles can still see her. He sees her dash forward to the thing, releasing a howl of her own and—her face contorts into something different, an animal-like face to finally match her animal-like personality. The things roars, shaking the forest floor as it rushes at her, maw gaped open. A scream is trapped in Stiles's throat as the monster's jagged razor fangs snap around the pale column of Laura's throat. It shakes her once, twice before growling at the extended claws on Laura's hand rakes across it's face. It rears back on two legs, towering over Laura, and swipes her cleanly in half with ten inch long claws. It was over in less than five minutes. Laura's bright amongst the dark foliage on the forest floor, blood cradling around her head like a mock halo. She's still beautiful, even in death.

He can hear a gurgled cry rip through her destroyed throat. Her eyes glowing red, dims in the light of the moon, as monster releases another bone-rattling howl. Laura's lips move over and over again. Crying out for name she can't say. As Scott drags Stiles forward and a group of trees hide Laura away from his sight, he can't help but think. _Who's Derek?_

 

They don't stop running until they're out in safety of the streets again. Scott's wheezing now and Stile has to help him breathe, pressing Scott's back-up inhaler into Scott's open palm. Scott takes it gratefully, shaking it before inhaling what's inside the container. He's still gasping when he talks, but he's out of the danger zone now. Stiles paces to and fro, truly at a loss for what to say. What can they say, really? “Stiles, what the hell was that thing?!”

For once Stiles remains silent to his own inclination, still confused at what happened. A giant fucking wolf thing sliced Laura in half. With it's claws! He closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. Aware of the wetness he finds there. Oh, God… _poor Laura_. He sniffles into his hands, feeling wholly responsible and even feels worse when he thinks, at least it wasn't Scott.

“S-Scott, what're we gonna do? That thing killed her.” Scott whirls around to face him, face ashen and shaking. “You saw it kill her?” Stiles nods. “Cut in her half. With it's claws.” Scott gaps open mouth, exhaling. “Jesus Christ.” Scott's moving all around, eyes darting back to the forest behind him. “Stiles, we have to call your dad…” “No! Scott! Did you see that fucking thing?! It ripped Laura in half with it's claws, it has enough strength for it's claws to cut through bones and tissue. My dad and everyone else will wind up being that thing's lunch! I'd lose him and I can't do that, Scott!”

“Stiles, it's killed someone. A wild fucking rabid thing! We have to tell someone… and your dad is a police officer, sheriff even.” Stiles collapses into a fit of tears, guilt coursing through him. “We can't, Scott! Did you see Laura? She turned into this thing… I think she's one of them.” “Do you hear yourself? You were scared, imagined things…Stiles, we have to call someone.” In the end Stiles hands over his phone, still sitting and crying as Scott calls his dad.

 

—

 

His dad comes with Melissa in tow, their faces stony until they see the expressions on Stiles and Scott's face. Stiles don't tell them straight ahead but waits until they all get home (Home being Stiles's house.) Stiles is forced to sit at the kitchen table in his mother's chair, a place where John knows Stiles won't lie. It's bit unfair, but at the moment Stiles can't find himself to be mad but sobs against his dad's shirt, slobbering all over the crisp blue police uniform. “Stiles, what happened?” His father's voice is soft, not angry at all. His hands feel safe around Stiles.

“Laura, dad. Laura…” is all Stiles allows himself to say through the shower of tears. His dad and Melissa turn to Scott, confused. Scott himself looks teary eyed, but finds himself able to talk. “Me and Stiles were out in the preserve. Near the Hale house. Laura Hale was there.”

“Jesus, what the hell were you two doing out there at night?” Melissa gasps. “And Laura was there? The Hales haven't been back since the fire…do they even still own the property out in the preserve?” Scott sighs, “I don't know what she was doing there, me and Stiles were just screwing around out there. Laura came out of nowhere. She was angry at first but once she found who Stiles was she was smiling and stuff.” Scott wrinkles his nose.

“And this…thing.” “A big wolf thing…” Stiles supplies. Scott nods.

“Killed her.” His dad looks alarmed, “And you two saw this?” Scott shakes his head, looking over to Stiles. “I didn't, I was running and holding onto Stiles. He saw everything.” Both parents turns to Stiles. “Sweetheart, you need to tell us what happened to Laura.” “Son, please. We have to report this.” So Stiles does the only thing he can do. _He lies_. He lies in his mother's chair and tells them the wolf was probably a rabid coyote, or maybe even a mountain lion and that it killed Laura, tore through her neck with its fangs. He doesn't miss the wide eyed look he gets from Scott across the table. But would they believe him?

That a wolf two sizes of a grown man in height had sliced Laura cleanly in half? After Stiles tells all he needs to say his father leaves the kitchen to call the station and put out a search party out for Laura's body. They don't go to sleep and are questioned by multiple officers on his father's force. Melissa brews coffee enough for everyone—even Stiles, who had been banned for two years of the stuff. He took the cup of hot coffee gratefully and watched the sun rise through window in the kitchen. Orange and red touch yellow. Reminding him of the monster wolf's eyes and Laura's.

Red and yellow.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the slow update. I have some chapters already written, but I don't want to post them all up when I get writer's block or find myself stuck on a particularly difficult chapter. I'll (try) to post one chapter every one, or two weeks. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments :)
> 
> There's a lot more fluff with Scott and Stiles in this one!
> 
> Also I tried to world build, just a little xD

☆❋──❁ 2 ❃──❋☆

 

 

      His dad lets him stay home from school on the first day and Melissa does the same with Scott. The police and everyone else leave around 12:00 pm, finally leaving the Stilinski household in peace. But even that doesn't last long when Melissa digs through his backpack and tells his dad what she finds. His father sets the bottle on the kitchen table between Scott and Stiles, his face fixed into a disappointed scowl. Fingertips thumping against the wooden surface of the kitchen table, waiting for them to talk.

Stiles goes first, after all, it was his fault. “I'm sorry,” he croaks.

   His dad sighs, gets up and pours the contents of the bottle down the kitchen sink. He leaves shortly thereafter and talks to Melissa in angry hushed tones in the living room. Stiles and Scott retreat back to his bedroom quickly after. Stiles flops down with a sigh into his desk chair, forearms crossed and cradling his head. “Scott, did you see the look on his face? He's beyond disappointed. I won't be free until I'm middle aged.…” “You and me both,” Scott mutters from his spot on Stiles's bed. Stiles lifts up his head, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“Are you mad at me?”

“ _What?!_ ” Scott looks bewildered, his eyes wide. “Why would you think that, Stiles?”

Stiles bites down harder on his bottom lip, fingers tracing patterns across the back of the chair. “Because I made you go there with me…and I'm such a shitty person, Scott. I didn't even try and pull away from you. I let that thing kill her. She's dead and we're not.” Scott exhales deeply through his nose, hand shifting through his rat nest of tangled hair. “Get of over here, idiot.”

Stiles gets up and takes his place beside Scott, his best friend wordlessly opening his arms, allowing Stiles to rest close against him. “You're not a shitty person. If you hadn't notice I had a fucking kung fu grip on your arm.” Stiles snorts. Scott smiles. “Maybe we shouldn't have been there, but it wasn't your fault what happened to Laura.” Stiles sighed and buried his face into space between Scott's shoulder and neck.

“Scott?” He asks sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Have I told you I love you lately, in like, a completely platonic way?” Scott laughed, “Just go to sleep, Stiles. I know you're tired. Being sleepy makes you sentimental.” “How the fuck do you even know that word?” Scott doesn't answer him and eventually, Stiles succumbs to his tiredness.

 

   Stiles wakes up alone, arms wrapped tightly around his favorite pillow and drool plastering his face against it. He frowns and rubs away the drool with back of his hand, grimacing. He rolls over and reaches over to his nightstand where his phone lays. Sure enough there's a message from Scott.

 

 

**I left with mom after u fell asleep. See u tomorrow.**

 

Stiles sends a message back. It's nothing complex. Just an okay and a see you tomorrow, too. His phone screen reads 3:42 pm. He takes a peek over to his window and doesn't find himself too surprised that his dad's cruiser is still here. Probably downstairs arranging a vast array of sitters and schedule for when the neighbors should check up on him. Deciding to not waste anymore time, he gets up and mentally braces himself for whatever potential fights he'll have with his dad and goes downstairs. His dad is in the kitchen, sitting at the head of it with his phone in his hand. “No, I haven't told him yet.”

His dad sounds tired. Stiles pauses in the doorway.

Oh, God. Was his dad finally sending him away his auntie Myra in Ohio? He silently beings to pray to whatever god, or possible gods that are out there that he'll never do another bad thing again. He'll stay at home like a good little boy doing good little things. He doesn't wanna work on auntie Myra's chicken farm cleaning up shi— “No. Nothing's manifested, yet. And as long as nothing has manifested, I won't tell him.”

Woah. What was his daddy-o keeping secret? He wasn't talking to aunt Myra that's for sure. Stiles strained himself to hear, hearing a gruff sort of voice over the phone. Male. He kinda sounds a bit douchey to Stiles. “Laura Hale was murdered by an _animal_.” His father emphasizes over the word animal, as if it was anything but else. Had his story not sold with his dad? “I'm asking you to come here, as a friend and a favor to just make sure everything's okay. And for the love of all things holy don't step on anyone's tail when you're here.” His dad makes a sound of amusement over whatever the guy says. “You were already coming? That's rather ominous all things considered... Well, call me when you get here. Good-bye, Chris.”

“Who's Chris?” Stiles asks out loud, effectively startling his dad and giving him a heart attack. “What the—how _long_ have you been standing there?” His father questions him. His brow was furrowed and his cheeks were the slightest red. It becomes evident to Stiles that his father hadn't meant for anyone to over hear this call, that this is something serious that he has no part of. Stiles hurries to pacify his father.

“Just came down a second ago. Chris wouldn't happen to be your secret lover, would he?” His father makes a choked noise and flails his arms. “God, no. That's just…just no.”

“Aw, it would've explained so much though.” Stiles says jokingly. His dad huffs pocketing his phone. “So are you rested up?”

“Pretty much, Scott makes a decent pillow.”

“I saw,” his father says, giving a smirk of his own. “It's a good thing you woke up though. I was just about to go out and grab lunch, you wanna come with?” Usually Stiles makes dinner, a healthy dinner that his dad despises with every fiber of his being. But Stiles is too tired to cook, still a bit shaken. He narrows his eyes at his dad. “Fine, but this counts as your cheat day!” His dad rolls his eyes, but heads out the kitchen with Stiles on his heel.

They get into his dad's cruiser and leave, headed for the best place in town for greasy food. It was a small place that someone would've usually looked over. It was half the size of their town's McDonald's with a faded old sign. The name almost nonexistent. His parents had met here and Beacon Bacon House became a place of ritual over the years. Stiles even knew all the employees by name. Hell, they even had a speciality burger named after his dad. When they arrive there's only four other cars vacating the small lot. Two belonged to one of the employees and the other the owner. Stiles didn't recognized the fourth car, however. It was  sleek and shiny. It's a black camero and it contrasted greatly against the other cars here. The door gives a little chime when they enter and all eyes turn their direction, greetings following soon after.

“Hey, sheriff Stilinski! Hey, Stiles!”

“Haven't seen you two in a while.”

Stiles smiled brightly at workers. “Yeah, I know. But you know how I am with my dad.” Jared—one of the employees at Beacon Bacon House and one whom Stiles favored over all the rest—chuckled deeply, dimples flashing. He reminded Stiles a lot of Scott. Same happy-go-lucky demeanor, a strange innocence that one wouldn't expect find in someone of this age, and a friendliness that extended to all types of people. Jared lead them over to their usual booth in the back, placing laminated menus on the wooden surface of the table.

“Drinks?” he asked as Stiles and his dad clambered a bit clumsily in. “Dr. Pepper if you have it,” Stiles replied, he opened the menu, fingering through it with familiarity. Jared turned, looking to the sheriff. “Sweet tea.” Stiles looked over at his father from the rim of his menu, eyes squinting. “Unsweetened tea.” He challenged.

“A sweet tea, you'll have to forgive my son. He sometimes forgets that I'm the parent.” Jared laughs, unaware of the tension between the father and son and tells them he'll back shortly. Stiles sits there, confused and wondering why his dad was acting like this and then it hits him. He's still upset over the damn bottle of whiskey. Stiles brings his left hand to the middle of his forehead and rubs there anxiously, contemplating on what to say. The sheriff however makes the first move and settled back against the booth's seat, shoulders rolling and stiffening.

“I guess you can imagine the real reason I brought us here.” Stiles nodded, lips pressed tightly together. He pretends to be interested in the menu. His dad continues, “Stiles, I know I've been…a bit protective.…” That earns the sheriff a snort from his son. “A bit?” Stiles said incredulously.

A bit is a vast understatement. It took Melissa two months to breakdown his father and into letting Stiles staying for Scott's eighth birthday sleepover party. Once Stiles had detention after school and had forgotten to tell his dad. His father had came storming in, guns drawn and blazing. That wasn't normal. His dad exhales sharply through his nose, eyes closed. “Stiles—I'm trying, okay? I know you don't understand, but it's for the best. You know I love you. And after getting a call from Scott about a wild rabid animal attacking a young woman, and with my son crying hysterically in the background…can you please see where I'm coming from?” Stiles sucks away every bad thought that's bloomed during his father's speech at the sight of his dad's red rimmed eyes. Glassy tired brown eyes.

Stiles licks wetly at his lips, eyes flicking down to his hands. Uncertain if he should meet his father's teary gaze or not. “Okay…how long am I grounded and how many neighbors should I expect to be checking up on me during the day?” Stiles breathed out. “A month and only Mrs. Davenport will be checking on.” Even though, it's terrible news to hear. Stiles can't help but feel a little happy. A month wasn't so bad and as long as it wasn't Mr. Zimmer from two doors down checking up on him—the old fart was an asshole, always spouting about how back in the day his father had beaten sense into him and how Stiles's father should do the same. Things were still uncomfortable even after Jared came back with their drinks. They ordered their food—a bacon cheeseburger with curly fries for Stiles and a BLT and chips for his dad—and ate in silence. Stiles had just bitten into his burger when the doors to the bathroom swung open, clanging loudly against a wall. Jared and the other occupants in the restaurant looked at the person with thinly veiled annoyance.

The person turned out to be very hunky. The type person that you'd except to be a bad boy. The man's handsome features were sharp, his face freshly clean shaven and his leather jacket moulded to his form. The handsome stranger's face was contorted into what seemed like a permanent scowl and he walked with a certain rigidness.

_But hot damn, son._

Stiles flushed and looked away, crossing his legs uncomfortably. Of all the times to get a freaking boner... The stranger left, door swinging closed behind him. His father was frowning, the knuckles of his hands white from clenching so hard around his cup. Stiles furrowed his brow at the sight. “Dad? What's wrong?” “That was Laura Hale's brother…Derek.” Stiles suddenly lost his appetite.

 

 

His father dropped him back home after their terribly awkward lunch. And no matter how many times Stiles asked about Derek Hale, his father wouldn't answer him. Stiles had huffed and thrown up his hands, feigning defeat. The first thing he had done upon entering his house was shoot upstairs into his bedroom, plopping down in front his computer with a look of determination. Granted, it took a couple of minutes to get the ancient thing up and running, but he was finally able to look up all the questions his father couldn't answer. Stiles pursed his lips and types in Beacon Hills Hale Fire in the Google search bar. He clicked on the first thing he saw, a local newspaper website from 2002. Luckily the website had an archive of past newspapers articles. He clicked on it, eyes scanning through the articles. There was an impressive list of the Hale family. Talia Hale was beautiful with a dark spill of hair and pointed features. Derek and her had the same heavy brows and look of fierceness. There was a list of those who had died in the fire, the children's names weren't revealed but Talia and her husband, Talia's brother's wife and her other son were. 

The insurance company had claimed it was an electrical fire, started from a spark from within the walls of the home. It was vague and Stiles feels his stomach clench. In dread? In sympathy? He couldn't tell. He kept on reading, it all sounded very fishy but there was nothing else to go. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

“But why did they leave?” He asked himself. He sat there for twenty minutes re-reading until Stiles became overwhelmed with a nasty headache. He shut off the computer, deciding to send off a quick text to Scott.

**Can you come over? I have something to tell you.**

He didn't have to wait long for a response.

**Sure, b over in 10.**

****Stiles sighed, raked his hands over his scalp before moving across his room to look outside his window. He stayed there until he saw the familiar figure of Scott from down the street. Brown hair flopped in the wind, a smile curling on his lips. Stiles exhaled, unaware of the tension he had been holding in. He raced downstairs, unlocking the front door for Scott. His friend entered, his cheeks red and breathing heavy. “Ah, maybe the asthmatic should sit for a bit?” Stiles teased as he lead Scott over to the couch. Scott frowned, brows nearly touching.

“That's part of the problem.” Now it was Stiles's turn to him with a frown. “Huh?” Scott shook his head, “Never mind, now what was so important, Stiles?” “I saw Laura Hale's brother at my favorite restaurant today with my dad.” Stiles told him. Scott looked very alarm. “What?” he wheezed out. “Me and dad decided to go out for lunch because I was too tired. So we went to Beacon Bacon House and while we were eating the dude came storming out of the bathroom. He didn't look at anyone, just stormed out. He looked angry.”

“Well, it's probably because of Laura? Right?”

Stiles shook his head. “That's the thing—he isn't suppose know about it, yet. My dad and his deputies had a real hard time finding out anything about the Hales. Where they live, their number… my dad didn't contact him and neither did the deputies.”

“Stiles…maybe he has friends here and they told him?”Scott asked.

“No one else knows, Scott. _No one_. Everyone's been all secretive about it. And then my dad was calling someone named Chris to check up on things about it just before Derek shows up. It just feels…weird.” Stiles admitted. “That is weird.” Scott agreed. “Maybe Chris is another cop?”

“Scott,” Stiles says rolling his eyes. “Why would my dad call another cop in a different county when Laura's death happened here? It falls to our jurisdiction.”

“Well,” Scott sighed clicking his tongue. “It could be worse. You could be me right now.” “What does that mean?” “I left my bike out there in the woods.”

“I'm not really seeing the problem here.” Stiles said.

“It's my bike! My transportation! My life line! I begged my mom so hard for a bike and she's gonna kill me that I left it out there!”

“Why not just go get it?” Scott looked frightened at just the mere mention. Stiles laughed, “Holy shit. You're scared!” “Of course I'm scared! A fucking animal killed someone there not even twenty-four hours ago there, Stiles!” Scott snapped. “Okay, okay. Sorry. We'll get it in the morning, will that you make you happy?” Scott grunts out a confirmation. Stiles smiled. “Good, now let's kick back and watch a Marvel marathon.” Scott groans in displeasure.

 

 

—

 

Stiles shot up from his spot on the couch, awoken by the screen door of their house squeaking open. Scott lay still, dead to world and snoring softly as the sounds of Avengers battling ran in the background. His father creeped in silent, but angry. He raises an arched eyebrow at the sight of Scott and fixes his son with a questioning look. Oh, right. Scott wasn't suppose to be here.

“Sorry—I was uh, scared.” Stiles offered. “Uh huh,” his father breaths out. “Look, it's 11:00 pm and Melissa has been blowing up my phone for the last hour wondering where her son is. Send him home, Stiles.” Stiles sighed and reached his hand out across the couch, shaking Scott hard. Scott opened an a bleary eye, trying to paw away Stiles's hand. “Sorry, buddy.” Stiles tells him. “But your mom is freaking out.” That sentence alone completely wakes up his best friend. Scott shot up straight, eyes wide and hair mussed from sleep. Scott gathers his things quickly, muttering a weak apology to the sheriff as he waits for Stiles beside the front door. Stiles wordlessly holds his hands for his keys, the sheriff drops them into the center of his palm before taking a step towards the kitchen. They left quickly, sitting in silence as Stiles maneuvered the streets from within the jeep. It was a pretty clear night, mostly everyone was home, tired from their first day back at school.

Just as they neared the end of the street Stiles was hit with a strange premonition. It wasn't something he couldn't exactly describe, just that it made his stomach churn like he had the flu. “Stiles, you okay?” Scott asked from the passenger seat. Stiles nodded his head and kept his eyes steady on the road, his mind else where. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something. A flash of blue, white, and red from the other end of Cedar street. Police cars where huddled into a crude circle, search dogs were yapping repetitively over something they had found. Stiles's breath caught in his throat at the sight of the ambulance.

“They must've found her,” Scott spoke softly, voice laced with sadness. Stiles white-knuckled the steering wheel. “Maybe my dad can tell us what happened tomorrow.” “You think?” I really hope so, thought Stiles as he finally tore his gaze away from the scene. What a terrible way to start the beginning of the school year. He can only hope tomorrow will be better.

 

—

 

The first thing Stiles did when he came back home was check for his dad, unsurprisingly he wasn't there, but Mrs. Davenport was. She was sitting in his mother's chair in the kitchen, threading a needle and humming a song unidentifiable to anyone else but herself. She was small and withered, but carried a bravado that could even stump the meanest of people. “Hello, Mrs. Davenport.” Stiles said as he entered the kitchen. He turned away from her, placing his car keys into the bowl next to the microwave. When he turned back around his was met with a toothy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her eyes—usually a watery blue—looked hard, pained.

“Hello, Stiles.” She greeted with polite bow of her head, she returned to threading her needle. A patch work of sky blue fabric sat in her lap. “You're father had to leave. Wouldn't tell me what it was about, just that it was urgent.” Stiles sighed and took a seat across from Mrs. Davenport. “I'm surprised you're even up,” he told her honestly. “I'm tired and I'm only 16.” Mrs. Davenport hummed, fingers trembling with age as she held the patch of fabric up to the light. Stiles could barely make out the design on it. What was it? A waterfall? The sky? It looked like giant swirling mass of blue and lighter blues.

 “Me and you both,” she laughed. “But I figured you shouldn't be alone so late at night, no matter if you're sixty or sixteen.” He smiled. Is this what it feels like to have a grandparent? He placed his palms out across the table, splayed. “Well, Mrs. Davenport, I'm going to bed. Got school tomorrow. Good night.” He knew she'd be fine by herself. “Good night, Stiles.”

He slowly walked upstairs, eyes nearly dropping with exhaustion. He collapsed on his bed with a groan, feeling entirely too tired to even shower tonight. That was okay, he's do it in the morning. Stiles kicked off his shoes, wiggled out of his jeans and shucked his t-shirt over his head into some corner of his room; he sighed happily at the coolness of his sheets. He started off thinking of trivial things while drifting off to sleep, when the image of Laura's blood speckled face popped into mind. Dark golden hair and red misty eyes.… His dreams were hazy at best, filled with uncertain memories and places. A kaleidoscope of colors and noises assaulting him. There were moments were he was happy, wrapped up in warm embrace that made him think of his mother, and another were Laura's blood speckled face called from the darkness of the forest. He was terrified and no matter what he tried to say or do, her brother's face flashed in the background like benevolent demon, mouth opened in a roar. His eyes were red, too.

Just as he rounded the corner of street in his dream, a loud shrilly noise identified as his alarm clock awoke him. Stiles rolled over and fumbled to turn it off. He's never been so happy to be awoken by his alarm clock before. He switched it off and read the time.

“Jesus Christ, it's 6:22 am.” He groaned.

Once awake he couldn't go back to sleep. It just wasn't too possible, too much brain activity already stirring inside his head. Stiles huffed and sat up, blanket wrapped around himself. Well, I guess I can make breakfast or something he thought as he headed over to his bathroom. Once he showered and took care of his other hygienic needs, Stiles dug through his dresser. He pulled out one of his favorite flannel shirts and shrugged it on. He wiggled into a pair of new jeans before heading downstairs. Stiles decided to go with something simple; toaster waffles and coffee. He stood at kitchen window as he waited, caught up in his own thoughts on how the day would go. When it was 7:30 his father joined him in the kitchen and the waffles were done, sitting in the center of the table drizzled lightly in syrup.

“Ready for your first day back?” His father asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Stiles nodded, his mouth full. His dad smiled, “That's great, well I got to go. I'll be home around 6, or 7…” Stiles choked and waved his hand, coughing. “W-wait! I need to ask you something. Last night when I was taking Scott home I saw the police and paramedics near the preserve. Did…did you find her?” His father looked torn—stuck between telling Stiles truth or lying. Luckily for Stiles his father decided to indulge him.

“Half..” “What?” “Half of her, Stiles. We're still looking for the upper half of her body.”

Stiles swallowed thickly against the dry lump in his throat. “Look…when we find the rest,” Stiles winced. “I'll tell you. But I have to go and, Stiles? Be good.” And with that his father left Stiles alone in kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? How was it? xD Beacon Bacon House… it was a very dumb name.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated :>

**Author's Note:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUHHHHH 
> 
>  
> 
> Well, if that tugged your little heart strings and made you kinda like it maybe you'd be kind enough to leave a comment and kudos? 
> 
> (❛ᴗ❛人)✧ Please?
> 
> But no, I really need some constructive criticism ;—;


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